Jason’s expression was solemn. “No, I won’t. Because so long as you owe me a debt, I will have a home.”
Everything in her went quiet, even her pulse, time itself standing still. “Then,” she whispered in a voice raw with love, “it is a debt I will never repay.”
Before he’d spoken, before she’d understood the depth of his need, she would’ve insisted on repaying the loan to the last cent as a sign of her independence. Now she knew this wasn’t about money or about controlling her. Jason had had centuries to accumulate wealth. It meant little to him beyond the practical.
But a home?
That, he hadn’t had since he buried his mother. Neither had she, the fort no safe haven for her. So she grasped what it meant to him to have a home, understood, too, that he needed the unambiguous link created by the debt.
One day, she thought, he wouldn’t need that tie any longer, would come to accept he would always be welcome in the place that was their home. Then they’d laugh over her long overdue debt, and perhaps she would tease her black-winged angel about having allowed a wet-behind-the-ears princess to tie him to such a terrible deal.
Until then, she would just love him. “Let’s go home.”
45
The estate Jason took her to was a vast sprawl of greenery broken up by wild bursts of color, the house of gray stone set within a multitude of gardens that had been allowed to run wild, the caretakers having far too much to do to wrangle the plants.
“Oh!” Delighted, she touched her fingers to a dew-kissed amber rose flowering defiantly without regard to season. “This is wonderful!” Already, she could begin to imagine their new life here. “Oh, Jason, the house is perfect.” No massive palace or mansion, just a dual-storied building meant to be a home, the stones warm in the lazy late-afternoon sunshine.
The caretakers’ residence, created of the same lovely stone, sat at a right angle to the house. “I must see everything!”
Jason didn’t smile, not so anyone could’ve seen it, but she felt his joy in the way he followed quiet and unhurried at her back while she explored the gardens. As yet, she didn’t know what she would do with her freedom—though she had a few ideas, excitement bubbling in her veins at the endless possibilities.
Turning to Jason, she admitted a secret. “I always loved the horses Neha kept.”
While angels could not comfortably ride horses, they could and did admire the beautiful, strong animals, and kept them not only for the vampires under their command, but as pets and to use in races run against the stables kept by other immortals. Mahiya had studied the subject for many years, because while Neha had taken away the mare she’d called her own, the one thing the archangel had not begrudged her was learning.
“Maybe, once I’m settled, I could set up some stables.” She’d start small, become a student again. “When I know more, I could try breeding them, but until then, I could offer to care for the horses of those vampires and angels who have no place for their pets in nearby cities.” Immortals could be leery about trusting their horseflesh to mortals, as unfair as that might be. “Do you know of anyone else who offers the same?”
“No.”
“Good.” Being a custodian of animals would not be considered an exalted position by those of her kind, but what need had she of such a thing? No, she wanted only to live a life full of joy. She squeezed Jason’s arm. “It’ll be a glorious start to an eternity I can’t wait to live.” With this man who made her heart beat and the future seem a dazzling promise.
Taking her hand, Jason tugged her around the corner to the back of the house, across the relatively tame herb garden . . . and to the stables beyond. Stables that had been cleaned and repaired until they were ready and waiting for use. Tears burned in her eyes. I shall have to work very hard to surprise you, spymaster.
You surprise me every day.
She somehow knew it was her love that surprised him, that he did not expect it, could not quite understand it. Swallowing her tears, she brought up their clasped hands and rubbed her cheek against the back of his. Will you stay?
Yes.
* * *
Though the caretakers, both six-hundred-year-old vampires, were reserved in their joy, their delight at having the house become a home was clear. Jason watched as Mahiya won their loyalty with her quiet warmth and openness of heart, and he knew the dangerous pair—trained in high-level offensive and defensive skills—would watch over her when he had to be away. For a spymaster could not always stay in one place, and he wondered if Mahiya would understand that.
That, however, was a question for another day. Tonight, he dined with a princess who seemed to see no lack in him and who understood the words he didn’t, couldn’t, speak. Having already given the caretakers the night off, he and Mahiya played in the kitchen like children . . . until he kissed the nape of this woman who looked at him with love so bright, he could almost believe it wouldn’t end in pain. She shivered, her body melting into his.
Knowing Mahiya wouldn’t be comfortable outside the closed doors of their bedroom—and it was their bedroom; she’d made that clear by quietly moving his small bag from another suite—he kissed her again before leading her up the stairs and inside. The caretakers had pulled the curtains before they left, but the stars burned through the skylight.
Shutting the doors behind himself, he stayed in place. Will you?
Her skin flushed and she ducked her head, before walking to the vanity and slipping off the bangles of jade green glass leavened with gold he’d bought for her from the same shop where she’d purchased several sets of new clothing, having come to New York with nothing but what she wore. He’d forgotten to pick up her bag from the temple where she’d dropped it, he’d been so desperate to get to her, make sure she was safe.
Bangles clinking onto the vanity, she removed the simple gold hoops in her ears. A slow, deep breath as she shifted away from the mirror, her back to him, and reached up to undo the buttons at the top of her wings that held up a simple tunic of pure black embellished with green and silver embroidery along the mandarin collar. As he watched with a quiet possessiveness that built until it was a primal hunger within, she pushed off the tunic, even as she reached back to undo her hair to create a tumbling curtain of ebony.
Her legs were sleek and graceful when she pulled off the narrow tapered pants of a rich, deep green. Rising to her full height, she gathered her hair over her left shoulder in a move that sent a tide of color over her skin . . . and he saw she’d taken off her last fragile piece of clothing when she removed her pants, the evocative beauty of her wings her only protection.